As human beings, we all have things we care about—some because we have consciously chosen to care about them, and others because we’ve been subconsciously influenced by the information we consume.
Often, this information is deliberately designed to shape our priorities and redirect our care. This, in essence, is the entire goal of advertising—whether it’s deliberate, as in commercial campaigns, or inadvertent, as with political messaging.
It’s important to recognize that the things we care about form the foundation of the biases we carry. At the risk of underestimating your ability to grasp my point, allow me to illustrate what I mean.
I have three daughters—no sons, and I make no apologies for that. What this means is that, on most issues concerning girls, particularly those in or around my daughters’ age group, I find it difficult—if not impossible—to be “objective.” And in my view, this is what being a great dad entails.
This brings me to an issue I have long had with some of my colleagues in the noble profession of journalism: the insistence that journalists must be neutral.
But what is neutrality? How can I, as a news anchor and a father, remain neutral when a 12-year-old girl has been raped? Does neutrality mean that in writing such a story, I must give the suspected rapist a platform to share his side of the story? Must we assume that the audience wants to hear his version of events?
And should we be neutral when we, as journalists, are clobbered by security forces?
I have a clear understanding of what truth is. And truth, in my view, is neither neutral nor objective—it is simply the truth. If journalists are beaten and there is footage to prove it, then that is the truth.
Yet the same security forces that demand the story be told “objectively” often want to dictate how it should be told. They want to be consulted on the why of the beatings. Whether or not that consultation happens, the truth remains: journalists were beaten.
So, what really is objectivity in a world full of competing interests?
I find clarity in how the field of accounting defines objectivity: “The objectivity principle in accounting dictates that financial records and reports should be based on solid, verifiable evidence rather than subjective opinions or biases. This ensures that information presented is factual, impartial, and trustworthy.”
The key phrase here is “solid, verifiable evidence.” That is the anchor of truth. If a journalist is beaten and there is video evidence, that is verifiable truth. The reasons given for the beating, however, are subjective.
They cannot be independently verified, especially when those responsible have every incentive to distort or hide the truth. They are human beings, after all, and humans lie—especially when the truth might attract punishment.
What I am trying to get across is this: objectivity is an elusive ideal. Every time I am accused of lacking it, I ask myself whether the accusation itself is fair—or if it's merely a way to distract from the truth I am trying to expose.
In the end, what should matter is whether one tells a truth that is backed by receipts. If an accident occurs and all signs point to speeding, that is factual. Whether the driver was rushing to a hospital, late for a meeting, or simply reckless—those are unverifiable claims. They may be true, or not, but they are harder to prove and often tinted by self-preservation.
I like to think that my perspective here is objective, at least to the extent that you can tell. But I’m not naïve—I know that not everyone will see it that way.
Do have a great day.